


Storm

by gilbeilschmidt



Series: PolyBeatles [2]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Storms, a tiny bit of blood, paul is afraid of storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18978793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilbeilschmidt/pseuds/gilbeilschmidt
Summary: Paul hates storms.





	Storm

It was storming outside. Lightning lit up Paul McCartney's bedroom, although he didn't notice as he was hiding under his covers, and the thunder rumbled harshly. He could hear the wind struggling against his window, almost as if it were trying to get in, and the hailstones clattered like marbles spilled from a box - evidently, a not very stable box. 

 

Paul hated storms. They were probably his biggest fear, he hated everything about them - the thunder seemed to be mocking him every time it crashed, like waves, panic washing over him. The noise he hated the most. The storm was  _ yelling  _ at him,  _ angry.  _

 

He trembled and whimpered, clenching his eyes shut tightly. He wished the storm would go away, but that was just wishful thinking.

 

Would John mind if he asked him to come round? He was probably asleep, or didn't care. He thought it about it for a while before deciding that he was going to call him. 

 

With shaking hands, Paul managed to grab his phone from his bedside table. He dialed John's number. 

 

"Johnny? I-I ne-need-" Paul sobbed in terror as the thunder rumbled louder, "I need y-you to co-come o-over…" His breathing picked up and he started to hyperventilate, "Pl-please… please, Johnny, please, I'm scared-" John sighed over the phone, seemingly exhausted, "Fine, yes, I'm on my way."

 

"I'm sorry." Paul breathed, sobbing again. 

 

"I'll be there in a minute, baby." 

 

"Wi-with Rings a-and Georgie?" He asked hopefully. 

 

"With Rings and Georgie." He sounded fed up or pissed off, probably both, and Paul immediately felt guilty.

 

John hung up. 

 

Paul had been thirsty for a while. He didn't want to get out of bed. 

 

He held his phone close to his chest just in case John called again. He slowly emerged from his blankets and cautiously placed one foot on the floor, his breath hitching. He slowly made his way downstairs, shivering, hugging himself and  _ terrified.  _

 

Every time he tried explaining his fear of storms to people, they laughed and told him to distract himself, brushing it off as childish. His mother had been there to comfort him when he was younger, always there when he had a breakdown or panic attack. He'd cry for hours and all he'd want was someone - his mother - to hold him. She'd been there when he would cry and tremble, hiding under his covers or curling up into a ball on the floor. He missed her. So much. She couldn’t protect him anyone… 

 

Paul shakily got a glass from the cupboard and turned to the sink, about to fill it up with water, but another rumble of thunder sounded through the house. 

 

The glass fell to the floor, smashing, glass going everywhere. Paul cried out and fell to the floor with a thump. He leaned against the wall and hugged his knees to his chest, sobbing violently into his knees. Why wasn't John there yet? 

 

John. John. John. John. John.  _ John.  _

 

He looked down at the ground and realised there was a pool of blood, steadily growing as he watched. And then, a sudden pain came from his heel, and his toes, and his  _ legs  _ \- glass, there was glass sticking out of his skin and  _ making him bleed  _ and  _ panic even more.  _ What would John say if he saw this?

 

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

 

He leaned forward and began picking up the glass from the floor, cutting his hands by accident a few times - more blood, more glass, more  _ panic,  _ more  **thunder** , more  **_lightning_ ** . Paul jolted as he heard the door open and three voices called out his name - it was John, Ringo and George no doubt, and he didn’t want them to see him like this.

 

He was shaking, crying, sobbing and covered in blood,  _ on the floor.  _ They would be disappointed. He’d practically dragged them there for nothing.

 

And then the thunder  _ shouted  _ again. Paul couldn’t hold in his scream, everything was just too much and he was so  _ tired.  _

 

More blood dripping from his hands and his feet made him sob again.

 

“Johnny!” He cried out and put his hands over his face, shielding himself from the expected annoyed glares they’d probably give him, but when he looked, they had worry etched into their faces.

 

“Paulie, baby, we’re here, okay?” George rushed over to him and helped him up, glancing cautiously at the smashed glass and blood scattered around the kitchen. “Let’s get you cleaned up, baby.” He whispered, holding Paul close as the younger sobbed against him.

 

George carried Paul up to his room.

 

He sat him down on his bed and retreated to the bathroom, coming back with tweezers, rubbing alcohol and cotton balls.

 

Once again, lightning lit up the room, making Paul flinch and hug George again for support - “I hate this,” he whispered. George nodded mutely. “I’ve got to get the glass out of your skin now, it’ll probably hurt, okay, baby?” He said, wiping the blood away. ?

The younger Beatle nodded and sucked in a breath, “O-okay.” 

 

Slowly, George removes each piece of glass, one by one. Each time Paul hissed with pain or whimpered because of the thunder, he kissed him gently, silencing him -  _ comforting  _ him.

 

Meanwhile, Ringo and John were cleaning up the blood and glass from downstairs. “We can’t keep doing this, Johnny,” Ringo said softly, “We can’t keep coming here every single time there’s a storm.” 

 

John stared at him for a second before shaking his head in disbelief, “Listen, Rings, he’s our boyfriend. He  _ needs  _ us in times like this, and I’m not about to abandon him,” He kissed Ringo quickly, “And neither are you, are you, luv?” Ringo shook his head and looked away, “Sorry, It’s just…  _ every time.  _ I’m  _ tired. _ ”

 

“So am I, but James needs us. And I will always be there for him.”

 

They cleared up all the glass, and washed away all the blood fast, making their way upstairs.

 

John entered Paul’s bedroom first, followed by Ringo, who immediately got onto the bed and cuddled up to Paul. John sat on the bed next and leaned down to kiss Paul, who was laying down, shivering and shaking - “Calm down, baby, we’re here now, okay?”

 

The storm wasn’t as bad as it was before, but occasionally thunder crashed quietly, making Paul cower slightly. At least he wasn’t crying or hysterically sobbing anymore, he seemed more calm now. That was good.

 

That was very good.

 

The four of them lay, cuddled up, on Paul’s bed, whispering to each other - the storm had completely died down now, the soft pitter-patter of rain still apparent but nothing too harsh. Paul was squished between the three, all warm and protected.

 

Maybe it was okay. 

 

They loved each other. That was enough, right? It was for them.


End file.
